So saying, he arose and went to the door of a closet which opened from the study; this he unlocked, and half opening the door, he said, “It is only I,” and then slipped into the room, and carefully closed and locked the door behind him.
I immediately heard his voice in animated conversation. My curiosity upon the subject of the letter was naturally great, so, smothering any little scruples which I might have felt, I resolved to look at the address of the letter which lay, as my husband had left it, with its face upon the table. I accordingly drew it over to me, and turned up the direction.
For two or three moments I could scarce believe my eyes, but there could be no mistake—in large characters were traced the words, “To the Archangel Gabriel in Heaven.”
I had scarcely returned the letter to its original position, and in some degree recovered the shock which this unequivocal proof of insanity produced, when the closet door was unlocked, and Lord Glenfallen re-entered the study, carefully closing and locking the door again upon the outside.
“Whom have you there?” inquired I, making a strong effort to appear calm.
“Perhaps,” said he, musingly, “you might have some objection to seeing her, at least for a time.”
“Who is it?” repeated I.
“Why,” said he, “I see no use in hiding it—the blind Dutchwoman. I have been with her the whole morning. She is very anxious to get out of that closet; but you know she is odd, she is scarcely to be trusted.”
A heavy gust of wind shook the door at this moment with a sound as if something more substantial were pushing against it.
“Ha, ha, ha!—do you hear her?” said he, with an obstreperous burst of laughter.